


Last Minute Shopping

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: RWBY
Genre: Christmas, Domestic, Fluff, Grocery Shopping, M/M, and enjoying their holiday with much schmoop, just two guys stupidly in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 09:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: A peek into Ozpin and Qrow's Christmas Eve as they navigate snowstorms, burned dinners, and the inescapable desire to hold hands.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Ozpin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 47





	Last Minute Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> A very (very!!!) late pinch hitter present for Neon-Crayons. The prompt was "first Christmas with Oscar." It turned into an exercise in making grocery shopping as fluffy as possible <3

Ozpin was just turning into the shopping center when he felt a hand on his knee. Unexpected, though far from unwelcome. It rested there, light and jittery, until he slipped one hand off the steering wheel and dared to catch it, much like one would scoop up a wild bird, unsure of how long it might stay. Thin fingers twined with shorter, blunter ones. Manicured nails clinked against a set bitten down to their quick. Palm cupping palm, smooth vs. calloused. Ozpin spared a glance downward to admire the contrast, Qrow’s rings sparkling under the light of the dashboard. It was the very first thing Ozpin had noticed about him: those hands, reaching out to help him back up. That, and the fact that the only skin free of jewelry was his left ring finger.

“Look at you,” Qrow drawled. He was staring out the car window, watching the snow steadily blanket their town. They’d be homebound come tomorrow. “Eyes off the road? Your driving instructor would be appalled.”

Ozpin chuckled, giving that hand a squeeze. “My teacher was Glynda and I assure you, she’s done far worse.”

“Yeah?”

“Remind me to tell you about a certain incident involving a stolen motorcycle, far too much liquor, and my personal promise to never again play passenger to her driver.”

Qrow let out a low whistle. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Any other time and day Ozpin would have simply told the story then. Not at 2:00pm on Christmas Eve though. It just didn’t seem right. Beacon was a sleepy town to begin with, but between the snow and the holiday the roads were all but deserted, giving the impression that they were the only two people left in the world. They’d been silent during the drive, simply enjoying the peace and the company. Adding a bit of familiar banter to the mix didn’t mean there was a need for anything more. Moments like this were rare in their hectic lives and, Ozpin thought, should be cherished accordingly.

Ozpin raised Qrow’s hand to his lips and let it linger there, reverent.

Reality always managed to rear its head though. A pity. Pulling into the nearest parking space meant betting on what was curb and what was a steadily increasing mound of snow, drawing a laugh out of Qrow that echoed through the car. Ozpin managed it though, relieved to still see lights on in the shopping center. He’d assumed that others would be in need of last minute foodstuffs too, but it was a reassurance nonetheless.

“Don’t know how you manage to burn a turkey,” Qrow muttered. Ozpin narrowed his eyes.

“Rather easily, it turns out: by keeping it in the oven for too long a time at too high a temperature—”

“I bought you a meat thermometer for your birthday!”

“Yes, apparently purchased off of some terribly shady site considering it snapped in half the first time I tried to use it.”

“Sure you didn’t just mess up the roast? It’s supposed to be _tender_ , Oz.”

“Quite.”

“Yeah, well, don’t really need a thermometer to tell us when something is smoking...”

As a linguist, it never failed to fascinate Ozpin how much meaning could differ from expression. Anyone listening in would have assumed that there was an actual argument taking place, what with Qrow’s crossed arms and Ozpin’s tone, colder than the blizzard outside. Strangers wouldn’t see the slightly exaggerated glares, or the way Qrow’s lips were trembling in an effort not to smile. It was a familiar language to them though. It had taken Bart and Peter six whole months to realize that they did not, in fact, hate one another.

Old habits dissolved into laughter, Ozpin thinking a little too hard about the smell that now permeated their apartment. With their luck it would hang around for a couple of days at least. Nothing like the overpowering stench of charred meat to say, “Merry Christmas.”

“At least the squirt was amused,” Qrow said, shaking his head. Indeed, Oscar had thought the entire debacle the height of entertainment. Then again, most eight-year-olds were easily amused, especially when it involved adults failing somehow. Ozpin could just remember the instinctual joy of having something, anything different happen in his life. Breaks in a child’s routine were equal to adventure and yes, he no doubt would have been thrilled over the drama at that age too.

“Still,” he sniffed. “Oscar needn’t rub it in quite so much.”

“You know he’s going to post that vid.”

“Hmm.”

“Actually wait, you know it’s already posted. Which means Bart has already seen it. Which means everyone you’ve ever met has seen it too.”

Ozpin watched the snow piling up on a nearby Subaru, picturing himself just an hour before, trying to wave plumes of smoke out of the kitchen with nothing but a rag and numerous curses. “Perhaps I’ll die of hypothermia between here and the storefront. That would be a blessing.”

With a laugh Qrow opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air that really was worrisome. Not that Ozpin thought they would actually die while crossing the street, but they may well encounter trouble getting back if they took too long. Qrow seemed to realize the same. He was already hoofing it towards the store by the time Ozpin had rounded the car, dragging his boots so that there was an easy path to follow. Ozpin smiled. The gesture, as always, was appreciated. Especially for a man partial to loafers.

So he followed Qrow’s back, but came level as soon as they were beneath the overhang. Ozpin’s hand sought out his partner’s, magnetic.

“Turkey,” he said, snagging a basket with his left. “Or do we not wish to risk that again? Perhaps a ham instead? Even chicken wouldn’t be remiss at this point.”

“Or that,” Qrow said. He pointed across the check-out lines to an area where a surprising number of people congregated.

“We are _not_ eating Chinese food for Christmas.”

“That’s tradition!”

“Let me rephrase: we are not eating congealed ‘Chinese food’ made by an all white establishment that has sat out for who knows how long. We’ll be concluding this holiday with food poisoning.”

Qrow shrugged. “Not like you haven’t already tried,” but set off in the opposite direction.

There were far more people here than Ozpin would have expected, which made the whole, embarrassing situation more bearable. Here was an old man with shopping list in hand, peering down at the cursive and clearly failing to decipher it. He eventually stuffed it deep into his pocket and pointed at a potato salad, seemingly at random. Across the way was another couple, their argument carrying none of the teasing that theirs so often did. Ozpin winced, quickly passing them by. Here was a mother rushing past just as quickly, an infant strapped to her chest, haphazardly throwing vegetables into her cart. Qrow made a face at the child and was rewarded with a spit bubble.

“You ever think about that?” he asked. Ozpin paused in the act of selecting a baguette. One could never have too much bread.

“What?”

“That,” and he nodded at the infant disappearing ‘round the corner. “Not that I don’t adore the squirt, obviously, just...”

_One of our own_ , was the thought that surfaced, one Ozpin despised so much he immediately banished it, nails digging into the palm of Qrow’s hand. Because Oscar was theirs, completely. As much as Qrow’s via spirit, soul, a goddamn proclamation—whatever one might term it—as he was Ozpin’s by blood. Even years later, he still couldn’t shake those first few months after Oscar’s birth, when all Ozpin could see of him were those pieces of Salem: her eyes, her chin, her ability to scream for hours on end... though obviously babies had _good_ reasons for such appalling behavior. The divorce and dive into single parenthood had shaken him, badly, enough that even time, antidepressants, and Qrow’s unexpected arrival into his life hadn’t completely pieced him back together.

_Do you want another kid?_ was the question. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Sorry,” Qrow said. He winced, eyes darting around like he was afraid someone might hear and judge his blunder. “Didn’t mean to drag all that shit into the light of the grocery store.”

Ozpin chuckled and finding that he still could was itself a relief. The last thing he wanted was to ruin the mood, on tonight of all nights, after everything else had been so pleasant. Minus the turkey.

He squeezed Qrow’s hand before finally lessening his hold. He’d break the dear thing at this rate. “No, it’s merely my own thoughts running away with me. Again. But to answer you... yes. Someday.”

Qrow positively beamed. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“With me?”

“You needn’t sound so shocked.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “It’s not every day all your dreams come true next to a stand of french onions.” They’d warmed in the last few minutes, the red stain in their cheeks beginning to fade. Ozpin watched, mesmerized, as it bloomed twice as dark above the stubble on Qrow’s chin.

“A Christmas miracle I suppose. Or something like it.” He knew he was blushing as well. Ozpin reached blindly for one of the onion containers, muttering about how it would go well on top of the stuffing. He wasn’t exactly fooling anyone, least of all himself.

“Must you always spring such things on me in public?”

“Not like it’s planned, Oz.”

“I beg to differ. I’m quite familiar with your sadistic streak.”

“That’s the only downside to raising a kid, huh?” Qrow let out a mournful sigh, eyes cast upwards. “And planning for another. No privacy at all. I’d kill for just an hour to play with our—”

Ozpin slapped a hand over his mouth before he could reveal their entire sexual history to the masses. “You are a terrible man and I am withholding your present.”

Qrow squirmed his way to freedom. “But you _are_ my present. All I really want for Christmas is for you to—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Branwen. Don’t you dare.”

Qrow dared, though thankfully just in a whisper while pressed against Ozpin’s side, nearly sending both of them into the bread aisle. The blush he’d picked up from thoughts of family and domesticity quickly turned into something... else.

“You’re a horrible man,” Ozpin muttered, pulling him along. They’d never get done at this rate. “'You’re my present.' Honestly. Now I’ll be thinking about that god-forsaken Folger’s commercial for the rest of the night, thank you.”

Qrow tipped his head back and laughed.

They did, thankfully, manage to get the shopping trip underway after that. No easy feat, though there was some semblance of maturity between the two of them. It just happened to lessen a great deal on the eve of their favorite holiday. As they passed the meat section (settling on a ham) Ozpin took stock of the various decorations strewn throughout the store, cheap as they were. A plastic garland. An inflatable snowman with half its head sunken in. A Santa hat perched on the occasional box of pasta. Most would have considered the additions ugly at worst—tacky at best—but it simply wouldn’t be Christmas if every possible space wasn’t decked out in seasonal decor. The playlist of pop-inspired carol covers and the graying sludge that people were trailing across the floor. Ozpin wondered if others enjoyed such unwelcome things as well.

Then he watched Qrow boop the snowman’s nose and thought, _Yes. At least one other._

“Cranberry sauce?”

“Sure. If you want.”

“Green beans?”

“Not unless you hope to wake up to coal tomorrow.”

“Stuffing?”

Qrow rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I thought we needed meat? _Just_ meat. When did this turn into a full-blown shopping spree?”

Ozpin considered the box in his hands. “When I grew paranoid about my cooking skills.”

“Oh, well in that case get two.”

“...I do hate you sometimes.”

“No you don’t.”

“I most certainly do.”

“Then why’d you put two boxes of stuffing in the basket?”

“So that I have an extra one to brain you with.”

Past the deli, the seafood, and that horrendous excuse for Chinese food. Ozpin knew the second they arrived at the baked goods because Qrow surged ahead, his arms already full of cookies and pies by the time he caught up. Qrow froze with a pound cake tucked beneath his chin, eyes wide as the proverbial deer’s. “They’re for Oscar,” he said.

Ozpin snorted. “You know they’re not.”

“...We can pretend they’re for Oscar?”

“Or actually get the poor boy something he’ll like.” Ozpin bent to examine an intricate gingerbread house, steadfastly avoiding looking at the price. “I fear he’s going to be quite disappointed this year.”

“Now who’s the liar?”

Hmm. Fair enough. In that the assumption that Oscar would be disappointed was inherently absurd, for the simple reason that the boy was _never_ disappointed. About anything. And it was that very tendency that worried Ozpin, for surely no child was actually that happy and amicable. Oscar had little to say about the absence of a mother, or his father falling headfirst into a relationship with a man. There were no tears or tantrums when Ozpin was forced to work over the weekend, or reschedule that vacation, or—as it still hurt him to admit—tell Oscar that there wouldn’t be quite as many toys as in years before, back when Ozpin had the support of a major university. Moving to Beacon had gifted them with many things, not least among them a fresh start and Qrow’s priceless company. It had taken a few things too though. Teaching 100 level classes at the community college simply didn’t generate the cash needed for a significantly laden tree. Especially not given how absurd the price of toys were nowadays.

Qrow pressed up against Ozpin’s back, chin on his shoulder. They both stared down at the gingerbread house. “You’re overthinking again.”

“I’m aware.”

“Not like us tattoo artists make enough to spoil kids either.” Qrow hummed deep in his throat, pretending to think it over. “Not unless you’ll let me give him his first ink. He still into that farming game? What’s it called again?”

“Stardust Valley. Or something to that effect.”

“There you go. Let me give the eight-year-old a tramp stamp that says ‘Stardust Valley.’ Perfect gift.”

The image was so absurd that Ozpin bit into his lower lip, trying to stifle his laughter. Which, of course, had been the entire point. He turned just enough to press a kiss into Qrow’s cheek. “You are a menace and I adore you completely.”

Qrow grinned. “Enough to let me tattoo the squirt?”

“I think our charge will have to settle for this delectable house. Put the pie back.”

A far more expensive trip than he’d been planning, but then it was Christmas Eve. If he could ever justify a splurge now was the time... and Ozpin found that he was hesitant to deny himself anything in this moment. Not buying sweets for his son, nor brushing arms with his partner as they walked side-by-side. So with ham, onions, stuffing, baguette, cranberry sauce, and a gingerbread monstrosity that took up the rest of the basket, Ozpin steered them firmly towards the checkout counter. Even so, Qrow managed to sneak in a bottle of eggnog and a packet of holiday M&Ms somewhere along the way.

If the cashier took issue with working a holiday and ringing up customers less than an hour before closing, she certainly didn’t show it. She and Qrow chatted amicably, him complimenting the wonderfully atrocious sweater she wore. Ozpin was just making a note to find three for next year—and wasn’t the concept of a next year, _all_ the years, with Qrow just wonderful?—when his phone buzzed.

He really was a father now. Qrow’s eyes were immediately on him, alert. Ozpin waved the concern away.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Glynda’s just wondering when we’ll be back. She needs to leave soon if she has any hope of cooking her own meal.” Ozpin paused. “She also says our son is a delight. Unlike his fathers.”

“Asshole. Tell her we’ll be there in twenty,” Qrow said, handing over his card. His eyes strayed to the storm outside. “Er, thirty.”

They were thankful for the extra time, now laden down with food as they shuffled back to the car. Even Qrow couldn’t make a dent in the solid foot that had accumulated and Ozpin resigned himself to soaked loafers for the rest of the drive back. Warm slippers, a hug from Oscar, and a of that eggnog—spiked—was precisely what he needed to get their meal underway. Correctly this time.

“We won’t be eating until midnight at this rate,” he sighed. Qrow moved to help him situate the bags on the back seat... and then just failed to move away. Ozpin rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be crowded almost through the open door, only marginally warmer than the air outside. The kiss Qrow granted him was like ice and Ozpin hummed, shivering into it.

“Been waiting to do that?” he asked, stroking the sliver of skin between Qrow’s coat and his scarf.

“Mm. Yeah. Since you got all handsy on the drive over.”

“ _Handsy_. You make me sound like some insatiable teen.”

“Yup,” and Qrow took his hand again, drawing it up to his lips. He was a millimeter from another kiss when they both froze.

“Was that...?” Ozpin pulled away and knelt, examining the car’s back wheel. He let out a soft gasp. “Oh, look at you!”

There, huddled away from the cold, was a black cat. The poor thing seemed so starved for warmth that it didn’t even flinch when Ozpin reached for him. Instead the cat curled instinctively against his chest, leeching whatever it could and staring up with wide, green eyes. He was all black except for a single stripe of white along his neck. Ozpin thought, perhaps foolishly, that it looked a bit like a ribbon. A wrapped present, just for them.

Qrow made a “hng” sound that just about encompassed his feelings. “Oh fuck. Does he have a collar?”

“No. He may have a chip, but...”

He didn’t look like the kind of cat who would have a chip. Not given how thin he was, the matted fur, a bit of his ear missing that spoke of many fights. Ozpin knew instinctively that he was a stray... and that the smart thing to do would be to take him to a shelter. After all, pets were far from cheap. Especially those so clearly in need of medical care.

Then again...

“His eyes are the same color as the squirt’s,” Qrow said, echoing his thought. Ozpin’s face split into a smile and they both knew they were goners. With a chuckle Qrow bent down and carefully rubbed beneath the cat’s chin, eliciting a soft purr. Ozpin tightened his grip and leaned into Qrow’s shoulder, keeping them both close.

“Hey there,” Qrow said. “You want to be Oscar’s Christmas present?”

The purring increased in volume, clearly an emphatic “Yes.” Ozpin found himself laughing and thinking vaguely of holiday miracles.

“That’s settled then,” he said, transferring the new addition to Qrow. “One ham, one cat. Is there anything else we need?”

Qrow grinned. “Can’t think of anything.”

Good. It was all they needed. More than.

“Home then," he said and slipped his hand into the crook of Qrow's arm, tugging them forward. 


End file.
